


Reverence

by AnnetheBAMF



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angel Shane Madej, Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Hurt, M/M, Pining, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, WOW this has an actual storyline now wow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-10-14 12:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17508329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheBAMF/pseuds/AnnetheBAMF
Summary: Shane Madej is an angel tasked with the assassination of Ryan Bergara.Of course, he has to absolutely fuck it up.





	1. Chapter 1

Shane Madej is an angel tasked with the assassination of Ryan Bergara.

Of course, he has to absolutely fuck it up.

“Alright, Shane, today is the day.” Shane looks at himself in the mirror, giving himself the same pep talk he has given to himself for the past two months. No one else is in the bathroom, which makes it the perfect time for Shane to monologue like an evil antagonist. “Today, you do your duty. Today, you snuff him out.”

He forces himself to crack a smile, because the thought of _snuffing_ out Ryan’s life makes him feel ill.

And it’s not because he hasn’t taken a life, oh not at all. Shane has taken many, many lives. He’s used to the cool and calm as he stalks and slashes his prey, is familiar with the sight of the light fading out from his victim’s eyes.

He gets praised often, although every praise comes with disapproving sneers. Not many angels are capable of dirtying their hands the way Shane does. And while killing doesn’t make Shane dance for joy, a small part of him admits that the surge of adrenaline that comes with it is gratifying.

(It’s not something he’d ever admit to his superiors, however. If they found out, Shane would be labelled as a fallen angel for having such dangerous thoughts. He’d be cast out to earth, stripped of his powers, have his wings forcibly torn off, never to return.)

Which means that Shane dirties his hands with neither remorse nor happiness. He fulfils his duties, lounges around Chipotle, and frequents shady downtown joints where he knows no other angel would voluntarily go to. Heaven is beautiful but boring, stencilled and cookie-cut in ways that would make a Renaissance-era artist weep. Life proceeds in an orderly fashion, with regimented rules and procedures that everyone follows like clockwork.

Shane is tired of it.

Which is why when the upper echelons first task him with assassinating Ryan Bergara, Shane doesn’t even blink. The details aren’t very exciting --- Ryan is a social media producer in America hell-bent on summoning all kinds of ghouls, demons, and entities to prove that the paranormal exists, and in doing so he’s attracted all kinds of attention from supernatural beings (both good and bad). Shane has killed humans who have wielded far more power, like presidents and warlords. He doesn’t understand why heaven is bothering to expend an angel like Shane to dispose of a two-rate adult male who screams and runs in dilapidated mansions for a living, but he’s not going to question the logic of his superiors.

Ryan Bergara would die by his hands. It was only a matter of time.

“Big words, Madej, big words. Just who exactly are you planning on ‘snuffing out’?” The voice comes from his left, and Shane turns to confront the source of all his miseries.

Ryan is quirking an eyebrow, a curious smile hovering on the edges of his lips. He doesn’t look concerned that Shane is monologuing to himself about taking people’s lives. If anything, he looks ready to humour Shane regardless of the answer he receives. It’s ridiculously endearing.

Shane should be a little concerned that Ryan has basically sneaked up on him (Shane swore he hadn’t heard a single sound, and he’s an _angel_ , for goodness sake), but right now he flounders to come up with what he hopes is a convincing story. “There’s a spider that’s been living in my apartment for a few days. I’ve tried to get rid of it, but it’s been besting me.”

Ryan laughs, open-mouthed and loud. “Oh man, those are nasty.”

“They sure are.” It’s not really a lie either. Shane pulls out his phone, showing Ryan a photo of a spider he found on the apartment windowsill. “Here, have a look.”

Ryan leans against Shane, their forearms touching. “Whoa.”

“Yeah, that’s a chunky boi.” The spider has a bulging belly, a sure sign that it'll be producing mass-produced spider babies if left unchecked.

“It’s been…besting you?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. I’m not very happy about it.”

Ryan actually looks concerned. “Do you need me to come over and help?”

“No, uh.” Shane’s brain short-circuits and reboots in the approximate span of 0.5 seconds. “That’s a long way to come for a spider.” He doesn’t need to see Ryan more often than he needs to, thanks.

“It’s not a problem. We need to talk about the production for next week’s episode anyway. I’ll come over after work. We can kill your spider, order Chinese, and then argue about which ghostly haunted location we want to check out next.” Ryan says it all so casually, like he hadn’t just invited himself over to Shane’s apartment for the first time.

It’s not a crush. Angels don’t have crushes on humans, thank you very much. It’s just that Shane’s grand plan to assassinate Ryan involved him signing up to be Ryan’s co-host of Buzzfeed Unsolved, the show that Ryan was producing. So Shane finds an apartment close to work, exerts a bit of mind and memory magic to make it so that he's one of Buzzfeed's long-term content producer, and winds up being Ryan’s co-host as planned.

And working with Ryan has been…interesting. Shane observes Ryan, learns about Ryan, and spends _a lot_ of time with Ryan. It isn’t the same with Shane’s previous targets, where he spins out political games and fiddles with people like pieces on a chessboard. Being with Ryan is uncomplicated and laughably simple. Ryan bickers with Shane like they’re old friends, whether it’s about the show or whether Chipotle is better than Taco Bell. They buy coffees and ridiculous gifts for each other. They even have _cheesy_ pet names for each other (do ‘Long Legs’ Madej and 'shut up, Shane' count? Probably). Ryan sometimes falls asleep on Shane’s shoulder when they’re travelling to a shoot, waking up all soft and mussed and covering Shane’s shirt with drool. Shane grips Ryan’s hand when Ryan is scared, knowing that Ryan always squeezes back with nervous enthusiasm.

It’s all a lot for Shane’s tiny angel heart to get used to.

But Ryan is still on heaven’s to-kill list. That itself is a fact. Shane has no idea why, since the most harm he’s seen Ryan do is pull off a spectacular prank on the Try Guys, leaving Eugene with a twisted ankle and plenty of blackmail footage for Ryan to use. Hardly murder-worthy.

But time is ticking, and Ryan must die. So when Ryan comes up to his apartment after work freshly-showered and smelling like sandalwood, Shane has a hunting knife stashed under the couch. In case that fails, he also has four different kinds of knives scattered throughout the apartment. He readies poison and detergent in case he needs to lace Ryan’s drink with something, although Shane grimaces at the idea of doing something so underhanded.

“Alright,” Ryan says, “let’s do this. Where is it?”

“Sally’s on the ceiling now.” And Sally looks like she’s having a grand old time, dangling from a silvery wisp of web.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “You named the spider ‘Sally’.”

“I named the spider ‘Sally’,” Shane confirms.

“God, you dork.”

“You love it.”

Ryan sputters. “Let’s --- let’s just get it down.”

“Should we give it the big ol’ smack with a shoe?”

“Try that and hundreds of spider babies will crawl out of her and infest your apartment,” Ryan says flatly. “We need to take her outside.”

With a bit of manoeuvring involving the both of them standing on Shane’s couch, Sally is gently nudged with a rolled-up magazine. She seems to consider this new sensation for a moment, and finally, to Shane’s pleasure, deems the glossy pages safe enough to step on. Ryan steps off the couch and deposits Sally outside the apartment like a true professional.

Shane swoons. “My hero. How can I ever thank you?”

“Get me some wontons and spring rolls and we’ll call it even.”

“Anything for my brave knight.”

They sit on the couch and Ryan begins talking about the next episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved, his socked feet casually draped over Shane’s lap. Shane remembers placing a hunting knife conveniently under the couch for scenarios like this. 

 _Tomorrow,_ Shane thinks. _I’ll kill Ryan tomorrow._

 

***

 

Shane doesn’t kill Ryan the next day because Ryan has two tickets to the local community’s fundraising event. There is a haunted house attraction and Ryan asks whether Shane would pretty please go so that the adorable little girl next door who is dressing up as a ghost gets to scare all the big bad humans (the irony of the situation isn’t lost on him). They take ridiculous selfies, munch on cotton candy, and Shane eats so many hot dogs that he makes himself sick.

Shane doesn’t kill Ryan the day after, because Ryan drags Shane to do a video shoot for Buzzfeed which involves them doing ridiculous trust falls and bendy yoga poses. Ryan decks himself up in a tight-fitting singlet and yoga pants, which serves to distract Shane more than anything else. Even as an angel, he sucks at yoga (Ryan is more flexible than expected --- another intriguing but distracting thought). Shane ends up with a bleeding nose after faceplanting into a yoga mat, and that particular video gets almost a hundred thousand likes on Youtube. 

Shane doesn’t kill Ryan the week after, because they have an episode to produce and Ryan has far too many dark circles under his eyes. They stay up late together to pour over video edits, double-checking and triple-checking that everything is up to standard. Shane buys Ryan more coffee and makes sure that Ryan doesn’t die of exhaustion (again, the irony of the situation isn’t lost on him). The episode is a hit, and the energy that buzzes between them while filming the Postmortem is electrifying. Shane doesn't need to read the comments to know that half of them are about how in sync him and Ryan are. 

Every day, Shane vows to kill Ryan.

Every day, he fails.

 

***

 

The peaceful days he spends with Ryan won’t last. Shane knows that. It won’t be long before heaven begins asking questions to find out why Ryan Bergara still lives and breathes.

Still, it’s a shock to see an angel walk into the café that Shane and Ryan are having lunch at. Shane recognises it as Dimitri, heaven’s local jackass and fighter extraordinaire. Dimitri is good at following rules, but he’s also the most annoying glory hound Shane has ever seen.

Dimitri strides to their table with purpose, and Shane stands up so quickly he knocks his plate of bagels over.

“Shane,” Dimitri says.

Shane begins to panic. He wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ \--- surely even Dimitri wouldn’t be stupid enough to attempt a murder in a downtown Los Angeles café when every single human was watching ---

Ryan’s eyes flit between Shane and Dimitri, clearly aware of the tension but choosing not to say anything. He doesn’t look afraid, thank god, but Shane really needs to have a conversation with Dimitri the Local Jackass somewhere else. So he tilts his head in the direction of the café’s entrance, wordlessly gesturing for Dimitri to follow him.

The alleyway is far enough for them to converse uninterrupted. Shane rounds on Dimitri and says, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

Dimitri regards him coolly. “I believe that’s the question I should be asking you, Madej. Why are you conversing with your target like you two are old friends? Why aren’t you back in heaven for your next assignment?”

“That’s my business, not yours.”

“It’s my business if I deem it to be. Your superiors are getting suspicious, so I had to come check it out for myself.”

“And? Do you like what you see?”

“Oh, I do. I think I see what’s stopping you from killing him.” Dimitri grins then, wide and lecherous. “Ryan’s quite the looker, isn’t he? I wouldn’t mind having some fun with him myself. Watch him scream and cry a little before I end him.”

The image of Ryan, pinned and helpless against a wall, makes bile rise in Shane’s throat. Of course Dimitri would want the glory of killing Ryan for himself --- Shane had anticipated that. But for Dimitri to think of _using_ Ryan in such a despicable manner? Fuck. If anyone qualified as a fallen angel, it was Dimitri.

“You wouldn’t.” Shane hates the terrified waver in his voice. He takes a step forward, hoping to crowd Dimitri into a wall. “You’ll never lay a finger on him.” And he means it.

Dimitri smirks. “And what do you think heaven will do if I tell them that I saw Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara together, spending time without a care in the world?”

Shane’s blood runs cold. If heaven found out, it would send a legion of angels after them. There was no way he’d be able to protect Ryan on his own, even if he was one of heaven’s best fighters.

Which means Shane realises two things at once.

Firstly:

“You’re here on your own,” he says, eyeing Dimitri carefully, “and not on heaven’s instructions. This means they don’t know _anything_ yet, do they?" 

Dimitri, to Shane’s credit, doesn’t look very perturbed. But Shane reads body language like an open book, can recognise the nervousness in the way Dimitri folds his arms and twists away. It’s good enough for Shane to make his next move.

Secondly:

_Dimitri must die._

Shane lunges forward, knife swinging out smoothly in a practiced arc. He sees red smear the edges of his vision, knows that he is entering a mode he dubs as the Killing Mode --- in this state, Shane fully concentrates on one thing only: eliminating the enemy. He doesn’t falter at the thought of killing one of his own kin. In fact, Shane stops thinking about anything at all. He allows latent fury to fuel him, spurring him to be quicker, stronger,  _deadlier._

Dimitri is an excellent fighter. He’s not superior to Shane, but they are evenly matched. Even with the element of surprise, Dimitri still reacts quickly. He blocks, parries, and gets a few good hits in. It is annoying as well as challenging, and Shane's desire to kill Dimitri grows stronger.

The air smells like blood. Both of them are wounded. But just as Shane lands a particularly satisfying knife blow to Dimitri’s shoulder, there is the crunch of footsteps from behind and a pair of strong arms wrapping around Shane’s waist.

Ryan is yelling something unintelligible, forcibly pulling Shane away with ridiculous superhuman strength. Shane snarls and tries to disentangle himself, because Dimitri isn’t dead yet. He needs to go and finish this, because there is never a job he leaves unfinished ---

“Shane," Ryan yelps, and that is enough for Dimitri to laugh, clutch at his bleeding shoulder, and teleport away with a loud popping sound.

Shane finally pushes hard enough to break free from Ryan's grip. He whirls around with an animalistic growl, blood-stained knife clutched in a deadly grip. Ryan backs away, both hands held up in a position meant to calm and placate. 

It's Ryan. Ryan is looking at him, witnessing Shane in this filthy,  _filthy_ state. Ryan, who still has his hands up and looks like he's about to throw up in any second ---

Shane's knees buckle. The fear disappears from Ryan's expression, and he rushes forward to hold Shane steady. “Shane, buddy, hey --- are you okay?”  

Shane can’t respond. Doesn’t know how to. Dimitri is gone, most likely off to turn this into a huge scandal in heaven, and --- fuck. How does Shane explain to Ryan that they’re both going to be in serious danger from now on? How does Shane even tell Ryan that he’s a wanted man to begin with?

“Alright, alright, um. Should we, do you wanna come to my apartment? It’s not too far away. We should get you, uh, cleaned up. I’m not an expert in first aid, but you probably don’t want to go to the hospital right now, and. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Shane echoes hollowly, and hears Ryan breathe a sigh of relief.

“You’re gonna be alright, big guy.”

 _I don’t think I’ll be_ , Shane thinks.

Ryan gets them an Uber. The driver thankfully doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t even bat an eyelid at Shane bleeding all over the backseat. Ryan insists on holding Shane’s hand the entire ride home, and Shane doesn’t have the energy to protest. He feels exhausted, like he’s run an entire marathon and completed ten missions all at once.

Fuck, he’s so tired.

Turns out Ryan is all business when it comes to first aid, because he shoos Shane into the bathroom and demands that Shane takes all his clothes off. If Shane weren’t so tired, he would be intrigued at this sudden tick of bossiness.

“Where’s…where’s all that blood coming from?” Ryan asks, looking for a large wound. 

“A lot of it isn’t mine, but I may have gotten thrown against a wall.”

“Jesus Christ. Yeah, I see all the scrapes. That’s going to leave one hell of a bruise. Where else?”

“I don’t know. Head. Knees. Maybe my ribs.”

“Jesus,” Ryan repeats, and Shane can only give a raspy cough in response.

Ryan tries his best. He touches every wound with gentle precision, fixes a bandage on anything that requires one. Turns out Ryan keeps a lot of spare first aid equipment in his apartment, because “basketball causes plenty of injuries too”. To Ryan’s credit, he doesn’t bring up Shane’s confrontation with Dimitri yet. Shane appreciates the sentiment, even though his gut squirms at the knowledge that Ryan has witnessed Shane in Killing Mode. It's not something he likes revealing even to other angels, much like a dirty mask that he only tucks away after a hard day of work. And to think that Ryan, of all people, witnessed it...

Then Ryan does a lot of googling, muttering phrases like “concussion” and “bed rest” and “maybe you do need the hospital after all”.

“I don’t need the hospital,” Shane protests. Angels bleed, but they recover quicker than the average human. Shane knows he’ll be fine in a few days.

Ryan looks up from his phone. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well…okay.” Ryan doesn’t look convinced. “But if your condition worsens, I’m taking you to the hospital whether you like it or not.”

“Fine.”

“Fine," Ryan repeats. "This means you’re gonna stay the night.”

Shane’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you go home in that state when there’s no one to watch over you. It’s easier for me to keep an eye on you if you’re here.”

“So I’m on house arrest?” Shane tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. 

Ryan manages a faint smile. “Be grateful. It’s a privilege to be receiving the care of Nurse Bergara.” Then he manoeuvres Shane so that Shane is sprawled out on the bed. “And Nurse Bergara says it’s time for a nap.”

A nap? But work ---

“I’ll ring work to let them know that there’s been an accident,” Ryan says like he can read Shane's mind, already pulling his phone out and making calls like the organised person he is.

There is some residual anxiety still rolling off Shane. What if Dimitri shows up again? Ryan doesn’t know how deadly angry angels can be. Shane shouldn’t even be letting Ryan out of his sight.

Then Ryan’s fingers are carding through Shane’s hair, and Shane can’t help but instinctively push up to get more of that sensation. Ryan chuckles. “ _Rest_ , Shane. I’m not going anywhere.”

The last thing Shane feels before slipping away is the lingering touch of Ryan’s fingers on his face.

 

***

 

Shane is dreaming. He knows he is, because he’s in what Shane calls his very own Dream Room. It’s small but cosy, complete with a bearskin rug and a fireplace. There is a bookcase with all of Shane’s favourites, most of them discovered every time Shane was on earth for a mission. A large television is playing some sort of documentary on unsolved criminal mysteries, but there is also the latest Playstation laid out messily on a beanbag. 

All things which Shane was never able to have in heaven. 

The Dream Room is Shane’s very own escape. When he sleeps and dreams, this is where he likes to be. He remains in his Dream Room to avoid the dark shadowy tendrils of his fears from touching him; doesn’t allow the terrified part of his mind to dream of any terrors when he is asleep. It isn’t anything to be proud of, but it’s Shane’s way of coping _(escaping)_.

It usually works well.

Except this time, he isn’t alone. Sara Rubin is reclining on the beanbag, wispy white gown and angel wings fluttering. She is the only other person who has access to Shane’s Dream Room, because Shane taught her how to do so when they were together.

“Shane,” she says, standing up to hug him. Shane lets her, but doesn’t hug back. It has been a long time since they last spoke, and for good reason. Shane doesn’t want her to think that their separation still hurts. She had been the one to leave, saying just how much she couldn’t stand the idea of him being a killer (how ironic, when Shane merely fulfilled what heaven asked of him).

Shane’s throat feels thick. “What are you doing here?”

“You know why. Shane, what’s going on? Do you know what everyone’s saying about you?”

“That I beat Dimitri so nice and bloody that he finally knows how to shut up for the first time in his damn life?”

Sara shoots him an exasperated look. “Don’t turn this into a joke. Please.”

“Then what do you want me to say? It sounds like you already know everything that there is to know.”

“They’re calling you a traitor to heaven. Shane, they’ll hunt you down and turn you into a fallen angel.” Her voice wavers. She looks stricken. “You know what that means, right?”

“I know.” God, does Shane know.

"There's still time to fix this," Sara says, wringing her arms. "If you kill him, you can still redeem yourself. Heaven will understand if you put your case forward as a confused angel, briefly lured away by human temptations. There will be a penalty, but it won't be as steep." She steps forward, her fingers brushing his nape. Tears crystallise in the corners of her eyes. "And I will vouch for you, of course. Heaven will listen, but only if you fulfill what they originally ask of you."

Shane doesn't respond. The things Sara say are things that Shane already knows. 

Frustrated at his lack of response, Sara cries out, "why are you doing this for a mere human? He’s nothing, Shane. Is he worth your powers? Your identity? Your life, even? What has he even done for you?”

Shane thinks of the way Ryan smiles softly at him when they’re alone, thinks of how Ryan teaches Shane to make waffles when Shane says he has never made them before. Shane thinks of Ryan sending him ridiculous memes about cats at 2am, thinks of the way Ryan makes Shane laugh so hard that tears leak out of his eyes. It’s the most fun Shane’s ever been allowed to have in his life.

“He’s done plenty, Sara,” Shane whispers.

Sara's expression is one of hurt. “You love him.”

“Love? Please,” Shane laughs bitterly, “I’ve never been taught how to love. And killers can't love. That's what you said before, wasn't it?”

He kicks Sara out of the Dream Room, and remains in it until the shadows begin to creep up on the windows.

 

***

 

Ryan is shaking Shane shoulder roughly. “Shane, Shane --- goddammit, Shane, wake up.”

“Mmmrh.” The last vestiges of the Dream Room and Sara are in his head, so Shane is still groggy. “What?”

“Are you okay? You were sort of…tossing around. And mumbling.”

“Huh.” Up this close, Shane can see that Ryan looks exhausted himself. It looks dark outside, and everything makes sense when Shane sees the bedside clock glow 22:27. “Wait, have I been out for the entire afternoon?”

“Yeah.” Ryan frowns. “Seriously though, are you okay? Whatever dream you had didn’t look fun.”

“I don’t remember it,” Shane lies. He feels stiff and sweaty all over. His dream conversation with Sara has taken a toll on him. “Could I use your shower? If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course. I’ll get you something to wear. Do you need any help?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

The sensation of showering away dirt, grime and dried blood is as good as Shane thought it would be. He uses Ryan’s shampoo and bodywash generously, lathering them on like a second skin. It feels good. It feels fucking fantastic. 

Ryan’s sweatpants and his old, faded T-shirt don’t exactly fit, but Shane relishes at how soft they are and how distinctively they smell of _Ryan_. He’s even wearing a pair of Ryan’s boxers, and that very thought is enough to make the tips of Shane’s ears warm.

Ryan is streaming an episode of Brooklyn 99 in the living room. He cracks a small smile when Shane enters, wiggling away to make room for Shane on the couch.

“Pizza?” Ryan holds up a plateful of freshly-baked pizza, and Shane realises just how hungry he is. He crawls next to Ryan and snuggles into a pile of blankets, allowing the warmth to envelope him like a snug cocoon. They eat and watch in silence, snickering and chortling at the jokes. It feels so _normal_ that for a second, Shane forgets that they’re both wanted men now.

“Thanks for everything, by the way.”

Ryan looks up. “The pizza? It’s not a big deal.”

“You know what I mean,” Shane insists, knowing that Ryan is trying to keep the atmosphere relaxed and casual enough so that Shane can feel at home. And while Shane appreciates the sentiment, he thinks it’s only fair that he brings some frankness in the conversation (even if he doesn’t want to reveal too much). Ryan has stopped Shane from killing an angel, fed him, clothed him, and has even allowed Shane to sprawl out over his bed like an overgrown starfish. The least Ryan deserves is a thank you, and some honesty. “Things were…bad. I wasn’t in prime form today.” 

Ryan chews thoughtfully. “Looked like you were kicking Dimitri’s butt though.”

“Looked like I was --- Jesus Ryan, are you seriously not questioning the fact that I _stabbed_ Dimitri in the shoulder with a knife? Or that I was this close to killing him?"  

“I mean, he did seem like an asshole.”

“People don’t stab people for being assholes.”

“ _I’d_ stab someone for being an asshole.”

“Always knew you had a homicidal streak. But seriously, how on earth are you not dialling 911 right now?”

Ryan shrugs. “I mean, you probably had a reason.”

“I did,” Shane admits, and Ryan nods in satisfaction as if to say ‘see, nothing wrong with it after all’. He looks contented and relaxed in the dim glow of the television, cheese and sauce smeared over his lips. 

Shane throws his hands up in frustration. “You’re not even gonna ask?”

“About the feud between the two of you? I don’t think it’s my place to do so. And if you don’t wanna tell me, then I’m not gonna ask.” Ryan turns to Shane. “I prioritise you, Shane. Your safety, your wellbeing. If you’re good on that front, then it doesn’t matter what you’re involved with.”

“I could be a wanted criminal in ten different states,” Shane tries to reason weakly.

“That’d be impressive, but it wouldn’t change a thing. Besides, I don’t think you’re a wanted criminal. You don’t give off evil vibes.”

Shane laughs. It sounds hysterical to his ears. “Evil vibes? Oh, Ryan. The things you don’t know.”

Ryan places his hand on top of Shane’s, similar to how he did when they were in the Uber today. “I know a bit,” he confesses quietly.

“Do you.” Shane feels the cogs in his mind spin, can sense the uncharacteristic sharpness in his voice. He wonders how much Ryan witnessed today. If Ryan knew about heaven and Shane’s mission ---

Ryan sighs, then says, “look at me, Shane.”

And Shane obeys, because Ryan’s voice is deep and gravelly and attractive in a way that Shane hasn’t heard before.

“I said that I. Don’t Care. What you are involved with. Understand? I don’t care if you’re in cahoots with the mafia, or if your long lost ex-boyfriend wants you dead --- "

“Dimitri is not my --- what the fuck, Ryan.”

“I didn’t think so, but you get what I’m saying? I want you safe and happy, that’s all.” And Ryan is looking at him earnestly, all puppy eyes with adoring fascination. Shane is struck with the abrupt urge to cry. How Ryan Bergara is so pure and honest is beyond him.

It takes a few more seconds for Shane to remember that Ryan hasn't answered his question. So he presses, “you said you knew a bit, which isn't very specific. What exactly do you know?”

“I mean, judging by how you and Dimitri were fighting, I’m guessing that you two have some kind of feud?” Ryan does a peculiar eye squint, the one he often does when he’s trying to rationalise a problem. “I still suspect that there’s some kind of mafia mob boss thing going on, but apart from that I don’t know anything else.”

Shane allows himself the luxury of sinking back into the pool of blankets, the breath he has been holding leaving in a loud whoosh. So Ryan doesn’t think it’s anything supernatural yet. “Ryan, I may have to leave the city for a couple of days. Maybe a week.” 

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes. And,” Shane confesses quietly, “you’ll have to come with me.”

Ryan’s eyes go large and round. “Why? Am I in danger too?”

“Something like that.”

“…Oh.” Ryan fidgets, toying the edges of Shane’s blanket.

Shane waits. Surely Ryan will ask for the truth now that he’s involved. Shane waits for the inevitable blame. He almost wants Ryan to yell at him, to punch him, to do something other than shower Shane with care and affection. 

But then Ryan only shakes his head and says, “we can do a road trip. Bring our equipment along, see if we can find any rural haunted spots along the way for the next few episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved.”

“Seriously? Ryan, come on. This isn’t a game.”

“I know.” And it’s probably Shane’s imagination, but for a moment there he sees Ryan’s eyes morph and darken into something… _hungry_. It’s gone in a blink, and then Ryan is grinning up at Shane with one of his regular, dazzling expressions. “Don’t worry. Whether it’s the mafia or your weird stalker ex, we can be on the run together.”

Despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, Shane finds himself laughing.

_Just you, me, and the entire legion of heaven, baby._


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not so bad for the first few days. Being on the run with Ryan, Shane finds, is a lot like being on vacation. They pack up their camping gear, bring an extra weapon or two for self-defence (Shane doesn’t tell Ryan about his secret arsenal of assorted knives and blades because he well and truly does not want to freak Ryan out), and create a Spotify playlist titled “SONGS FOR WHEN YOU ARE RUNNING AWAY FROM BAD PEOPLE!!!!” that goes on for ten hours.

They take turns driving, sometimes into the night, and make stops for gas and food. They don’t spend too much time at any one place. They occasionally stop at motels to spend the night, but only because Ryan complains about wanting hot showers and a decent night’s sleep. Shane suspects Ryan demands these things because he worries that Shane will transform into some kind of ghoulish, Bigfoot-like creature if he doesn’t get to shave for several days.

“So,” Ryan says, after one week passes, “I’ve told Buzzfeed that we’ll be away for a few more weeks. Told them that we were out researching, and that we needed time to recharge. They were cool with it, considering how we churned out so many episodes without a real break before this.”

Shane is driving, and they’re listening to some country radio station because there’s reception. “That’s good news. Thanks for sorting it out.”

“Yeah, no problem.” The sky is beginning to darken, casting shadows over the dashboard. “Do you need me to take over? You’ve been driving for a few hours.”

“Nah, I’m good. You rest. I’ll wake you up when we get to the next town.”

Ryan nods gratefully, pulling the hood of his jacket over his eyes. His breathing evens out, and Shane can’t help but smile when he hears a little snore.

The highway they’re on ends up branching into a narrower road with more potholes and gravel. Flat plains are replaced with tall, looming trees, and thick branches that swallow up the sky. The wilderness surrounds them, complete with the swells and crests of rolling hills. Shane hums, flicking the headlights on. 

For about half an hour, nothing noteworthy happens. The last vestiges of sunset fade, and then there’s nothing more but the car’s headlights to illuminate the path in front of them. The road becomes ridden with more potholes, and they begin to ascend what feels like a cliff. There's a sign reading that they're on some kind of mountain overpass, but Shane doesn't recognise the name. Considering how there are no other cars around, it's probably not a very popular one. 

Then a thick layer of fog comes out of  _fucking_ nowhere.

Jesus Christ, Shane thinks. It’s not his first time driving while enveloped in a dense layer of nothingness, but it’s a more concerning when they’re on the run  _and_ can only see only up to several feet away. And if they’re in the forest, god knows what could come leaping out at them at any moment. It’s the perfect set up for a stereotypical horror movie…or for anything --- anyone --- who want Shane and Ryan dead. Even a deer running across the road would be enough to cause an accident.

As if reading his thoughts, the radio erupts into sharp, jagged static. It's almost nightmarish, spitting out frequencies like the spirit box does. Shane winces at the noise, frantically using one hand to turn the volume down. Thankfully, Ryan stays asleep. 

Well, he isn’t going to wake Ryan up. As a rule of thumb, Ryan needs more rest than Shane. The point being: Shane’s an angel. Ryan isn’t.

So Shane resolutely vows to let Ryan sleep.

Even if they’re being followed.

That realisation comes a little too late, and Shane is ashamed that he didn’t spot it earlier. Because  _of course_ Shane isn’t going to suspect a little bit of fog, isn’t going to think that a bit of radio static is caused by something supernatural. These are normal things that happen when you drive out into the woods. Shane only realises that something is on their tail because he’s an angel, and whatever is following them is now close enough that Shane’s angel senses flare in response to the threat. 

He also can’t see anything, which means that this entity is hiding itself with an invisibility spell. Joy. 

Fuck that shit. He’s not going to risk crashing the car and injuring Ryan in the process. Instead, Shane grits his teeth and continues driving until the road evens out. Then he stops, turns the engine off. Double checking that Ryan is still sleeping (and Shane must be really lucky, because Ryan is usually a light sleeper), Shane slips out and wanders into the woods. There is thankfully only one presence, which means that he can lure it out, take care of it, and slip back into the car before Ryan realises he’s gone.

It’s a good plan, but it's also a notorious Shane Madej Plan. Plans like these usually work out for him due to sheer desperation. He hopes it works out this time, if only for Ryan's sake. 

As an angel, Shane can see better than humans in the dark. It's pretty neat, but this forest is thick, and there’s far too many branches snagging onto his hair and sleeves for him to fully concentrate. Still, Shane hums a little tune and twirls the blade in his hands with slow, lazy motions to show that he’s not afraid. And really, he isn’t. He’s been preparing for an ambush ever since he took off with Ryan. If anything, he’s a little surprised that it’s taken something this long to find them. 

There’s a small clearing up ahead, which is the perfect place for a showdown. Shane stops walking, and feels the presence halt at the very same moment. Typical villain behaviour. 

“Alright,” Shane sing songs, “show yourself.”

A flare of dark energy bursts from above, and then there’s a demon hurtling towards him at high speed.

Interesting. Shane sidesteps, easily avoiding the blow. The demon doesn’t look all that powerful. He’s smaller than Shane, has stereotypical demon claws for fingers, and emits a regular amount of demonic energy. Nothing out of the norm, as far as demons go.

Still. “A demon? I’m surprised.” He’d been expecting an angel, after all.

“Shane Madej,” the demon growls.

“Demooon,” Shane responses, twisting his tongue so that the word comes out like a slur, “not that I’m complaining about the attention, and I’m actually really, really flattered that you took the time to follow me all the way out here, but I’m in a hurry and you’re not the kind of company I was hoping for.”

The demon clearly isn’t in the mood for Shane's bad pickup lines, because it spreads a set of leathery wings and flies at Shane again like some supersonic jet arrow. 

Shane sputters at the airborne assault. “Hey, that’s not fair!” He’s an angel with  _wings_ , but masquerading as a human means that he hasn't been able to fly. 

He supposes he can cheat a little. There’s no one out here after all. So Shane discards some of his angel glamour, allows a watered-down, barely-visible version of his wings to emerge from his back. He takes a few experimental flaps, matches the demon’s aerial height, calculating the timing perfectly so that he can ---

Shane twists his body at an angle as the demon barrels into him, plunging his blade deep into one of the demon’s wings. Black blood gushes out, spattering all over Shane's face. The demon emits a bloodcurdling scream and loses altitude, crashing into several branches before hitting the ground with a loud thump. 

Now’s the time to finish it off. Shane lands on the demon, stomping on its chest with a heavy-booted foot. He’s just about to land the killing blow when the demon spits out something that makes the blood in Shane’s veins freeze.

_“Heaven sends its regards.”_

The demon launches itself upwards, and suddenly Shane is the one on the ground, knife clattering uselessly out of his hands. But Shane can’t react, even when the demon’s claws elongate and extend towards his chest. His mind is whirring, still trying to process the sudden information flooding his head.

In the commotion, Shane and the demon do not hear the footsteps or the rustling. It is only when the beam of a flashlight shines through the foliage, with Ryan’s voice yelling, “Shane? Shane, where are you?” that they both look up. Shane doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or panicked that Ryan is here, because there’s a  _demon_ pinning Shane to the ground, and Shane really doesn’t need Ryan to witness this impending disaster. 

But then the demon stills, its claws barely brushing the surface of Shane’s plaid shirt.

Huh.

What the fuck? Was this demon malfunctioning or something? The demon is no longer staring at Shane, but at the bushes behind --- precisely at where Ryan is. From his position on the ground, Shane can’t see anything but the demon’s expression as it transitions from murderous to wide-eyed fright in the span of two seconds.

Those two seconds are enough for Shane to wrestle his way out of the demon’s grip. Ryan is running forward, stabbing at the demon's chest with a viciousness so deadly and accurate that it leaves even Shane stunned. The demon shrieks in a way that all demons do before they die, exploding into a plume of ash.

For a moment, Shane and Ryan share a look. Then Shane is sinking to his knees with an exhausted groan. He feels like he's aged about ten years. "How did you know where to find me?”

“Well…” Ryan is looming over him, knife with tar-like demon blood still clutched in his grip. With his free hand, he brushes some of the stray ash that linger on his hoodie. “You guys weren’t exactly quiet. There was, you know, a lot of movement out here.”

“Wait, are you okay?” Shane asks, scrambling up to inspect Ryan. He knows Ryan isn’t injured, but that’s not what Shane’s concerned about. Apart from breathing heavily, Ryan doesn’t look the least bit ruffled or perturbed about the fact that he's just committed murder. Most people react a little more after their first kill --- hell, even Shane's first kill had left him in a mess. “Do you not realise what you’ve just done?” _Or are y_ _ou not freaking about the fact that whatever thing you killed bled black and exploded into nothingness? Normal humans don’t do that, Ryan!_

“Think I should be the one asking you that question,” Ryan says, extending his hand to Shane. Shane takes it, gives Ryan the privilege of pulling him up. “But let’s get back to the car first.”

The car is right by where Shane left it, and Ryan insists on being the one to drive this time. Shane lets him. They get in, turn on the heater, and sit in silence as they wait for the car to warm up.

Then Ryan whirls on Shane, voice tight with anger. “Alright, what was that? Do you think you can just leave me in a car in the middle of nowhere without so much as a word? You could have been killed!” 

“I, uh, I wanted to let you sleep?”

“Bullshit. You just didn’t want me out there with you.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t!” Shane wrings his hands in frustration, the tension in his body finally manifesting as a temper tantrum. “That thing you killed wasn’t human, Ryan, you’d be blind if you didn’t notice. Forgive me if all I want to do is keep you healthy and alive!"

Ryan mimes flapping some imaginary wings, crooks his fingers to mimic horns. “Yeah, I know. That was a demon, right?”

“That was a demon, and that demon could have easily killed  _you_ if it wanted to,” Shane asserts.“You just got lucky that you distracted it enough to get a hit in.”

“Just like how the demon was lucky enough to distract you?” Ryan asks sardonically.

“I --- wait, you can’t just turn the tables back on me!”

“I’m turning them over. Watch me turn those damn tables on you.” Ryan points a finger at Shane, like he's lecturing an unruly child. "That was stupid, Shane. If it weren't for me, you would've been dead." 

Shane knows he deserves Ryan's anger, but still. “Ryan, you just killed a  _demon_. How are you not in shock right now?” Then he thinks about it, and frowns. “Wait, are you actually a closet serial killer? Because that would make so much sense. Is that why things like gore and murder don’t bother you?”

The disturbing thing is that Ryan actually pauses to consider this question (it's not a lengthy pause, but Shane knows Ryan well enough to recognise hesitation when he sees it), before saying, “no, not a closet serial killer. I just, you know, Buzzfeed Unsolved gets me researching into a lot of crazy things. This isn't a big step up, right?”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement.”

“Look, I saw that you were in danger, and I reacted. It’s not a big deal,” Ryan says with an eyeroll, “even if that thing turned out to be a demon.”

But it is a big deal, Shane thinks, the realisation beginning to dawn on him. Ryan now has knowledge of the supernatural. If Ryan knows that demons exist, it won’t be a stretch for him to conclude that angels exist too. Not to mention that Ryan would have heard the demon’s last words.

_Heaven sends its regards._

Shane desperately wants to clarify what that means, but the logical part of him already knows. Heaven and hell are in some weird kind of alliance to exterminate him. That must be the only explanation, right?  God, it’s so ridiculous that Shane wants to cry. His world is falling to pieces, and he doesn't understand why two opposing factions (it's _heaven and hell_ , for goodness sake) would wholeheartedly unite just to see him disappear. 

But the point is that Ryan did hear the demon’s last words. Which means that Ryan, at some stage, is going to start putting two and two together. And because Ryan is a disastrous combination of intelligence, strength, and hot-headedness, Shane can't help but worry. 

Knowledge is a dangerous thing. He thinks about Eve, the apple, and the fall of mankind. If there's a metaphorical apple here, then Ryan has already swallowed it --- seeds, stem, skin and all. 

Shane doesn’t manipulate memories much, but he does it when there's good reason to. Sometimes unsuspecting humans catch him in the middle of a mission, sometimes he needs to make sure no one asks any stupid questions. It’s a cool party trick. And while he’s a little disappointed that Ryan will be forgetting everything tonight (because really, the scene of Ryan stabbing the demon will forever be ingrained in Shane's mind), it’s probably a sensible thing to do.

It will even help in keeping Ryan safe.

So Shane grabs Ryan’s shoulders, just a bit roughly, and looks straight into Ryan’s eyes. He channels whatever angelic power he has, and tries to worm his way into Ryan’s mind. 

Except…it’s not really working. There’s some kind of mental shield at the forefront of Ryan’s memories, stopping Shane from making his way through. The shield isn't an actively conjured one, it just seems to flow from Ryan like an extension of himself.

“Uh…Shane, buddy, are you okay?” Ryan’s eyes are flitting around, and he suddenly looks incredibly nervous. “You’re glaring really hard at me for some reason.”

Shane releases Ryan, falling back into the car seat with a loud exhale. It’s the first time his magic hasn’t worked on a human, but Shane supposes there’s a lot of things about humans he doesn’t yet know about. Ryan must be quite special. Maybe he dabbled in witchcraft or something. That would certainly make him less susceptible to supernatural influences.

“It’s nothing,” Shane says, shaking his head.

And god, he just really hopes that’s true.  

 

***

 

Shane finds himself in his Dream Room once again.

It’s looking worse for the wear tonight --- the Playstation is lying on the floor in a broken heap, and some of Shane’s favourite novels are missing from the shelves. His bearskin rug is stained with black blood, and the fireplace is unlit. 

It's so, so cold. And since the Dream Room is a reflection of his mental state, Shane knows that he won't be able to avoid the terrors that haunt him tonight. He finds himself curling up in a ball on the floor, well aware of how thick the shadows outside are. The coldness seeps into his limbs, and for some reason even all the blankets that are usually present in his Dream Room have disappeared.

A small crack appears on one of the windows. Then another.

“Well,” Shane says, his voice resigned, “tonight’s gonna really suck.”

His mind wanders. Hell and heaven in an alliance. Someone should really put that on a Hallmark gift card. 

There’s still something amiss. Shane may be disobeying heaven's orders, but it still doesn’t justify this weird unity. What stakes does hell have in getting rid of Shane? Why doesn't heaven just send some other angel to take care of Ryan? Why can't they just strip Shane of his powers, and of his immortality, by making him a fallen angel? Why does everyone want Shane dead so badly all of a sudden? And why now? 

What else is he missing?

There are also other things that Shane can’t help but worry about. Ryan’s apathetic attitude to the supernatural. Ryan’s resistance to his magic. The fact that Ryan killed a demon, with accuracy, without so much as a blink.  

“At the end of the day, does it matter what Ryan is hiding?” Shane muses. “I haven’t been forthcoming with him either, so that’s a fair trade, right?”

The windows shatter, showering Shane with glass fragments. He doesn’t wince at how the shards cut into him. It’s a dream, so he feels no pain. The shadows flood in, and Shane prepares himself for a truly shitty night. 

“Shane!”

Suddenly, Ryan is  _there_ at the doorway, pulling him to his feet and dragging him out of the Dream Room into the darkness beyond. For a long period of time they are freefalling, their hands interlinked, there's a bright flash of light, and then --- Shane finds himself in another room.

It’s not his Dream Room, that much Shane knows. This room is twice as large, and is decorated to a completely different taste. Shane’s Dream Room is haphazard in a cozy way, filled to the brim with everything that's messy, bright, and vibrant. This room is muted with whites and greys, cool and calm to the tired eye. There’s a large four-poster bed in the corner, fluffed up with multiple pillows and a quilt. Further away from the bed is a kitchen and bar, with an impressive collection of alcohol lined up behind a gold-encrusted glass case. The curtains are heavy and lush, and there’s even some exotic potted plant and a large oil painting depicting a Renaissance scene on the wall. It’s a fancy room, fit for a being who lived in luxury and thrived in comfort.

“Ryan…?” Shane asks, somewhat hesitant. His fingers touch the surface of a black leather couch, relishing at how smooth it is. “Is this your Dream Room?”

Ryan laughs breathlessly. “If that’s what you call it, then sure. Yes, it’s my Dream Room. Do you like it?”

“It looks fancy. You’re a little fancy man.”

“Just a bit.” Ryan makes his way to the bar, pouring himself a general portion of whisky. “Drink?”

Shane nods, accepting the glass that Ryan hands to him. He takes a sip and thinks that it may be some of the best damn whisky he’s ever had. They sit on the couch, and Ryan puts his feet up on the coffee table. It is only now that Shane realises Ryan is in a dark suit that hugs his figure perfectly, and he can't help but allow his gaze to linger longer than necessary. 

“Is this real?” Shane blurts. “Is this happening in my head, or are you actually the real Ryan Bergara, here with a Dream Room of his own? How did you find me? How did you even know…”

“That you wanted the company?” Ryan sips at his drink, looking the most relaxed that Shane has ever seen him. Shane is grateful that Ryan doesn’t poke fun at Shane's little mental breakdown. There’s something embarrassing about building a special mental sanctuary to protect yourself from night terrors, and yet still have it be destroyed from your own fears. “Because I just knew. You’re not subtle, Shane. I can sense that Dream Room of yours from a mile away.”

Shane balks. “That’s impossible. No one gets to access my Dream Room unless I tell them about it. No one should even know that it exists.”

“Then maybe you just don’t know what I’m capable of.”

"What are you capable of?" 

Ryan hums. "A couple of things. You know, jack of all trades, master of none."  

“No, wait." Shane has to at least be sure of one thing. "Are you actually Ryan? Or is this something I’m dreaming up, just because I’m so desperate for the real Ryan Bergara?”

Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think I'm not the real --- hold on, rewind that. You’re desperate for Ryan Bergara?”

“No!” Even if this is a dream, Shane still doesn't like feeling embarrassed. “I mean, I, uh. Maybe? I don’t know?”

"Why are you desperate for Ryan Bergara?" 

"I'm not  _desperate_ for him." The both of them know it's a lie. 

“Okay, um. Let’s see how I can make this easier for us. Here goes: I’m most definitely a figment of your imagination,” Ryan says resolutely, clasping his hands together. He's got that thinking face on, the one that he usually wears when he's trying to be secretive. “I’m not the real Ryan Bergara. You conjured me up; it was you, uh, who led yourself to a different Dream Room. And do you know what that means?”

Shane feels a little breathless. “What?”

“It means,” Ryan intones, sounding surer and more confident than before, “that you can tell me anything and everything that’s on your mind. Since this is all just in your head, what’s the harm in telling me? Spill your worries, Shane.”

“Dude, what." 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m trying to not be an asshole,” Ryan says. And whatever this Ryan is, he’s speaking and acting so much like the actual Ryan Bergara that Shane has to do a double-take and check that this Ryan is  _indeed_ a figment of his imagination. But he must be, because there's no way the real Ryan would be able to converse with Shane here. The real Ryan shouldn't have the power to summon a Dream Room, much less open up this...weird...mental link thing. Shane thinks that his mental state must be well and truly fucked if he's conjuring Ryan up in his dreams. 

Which is why Shane decides to tell fake-Ryan everything. He tells fake-Ryan about his mission, his identity --- heck, he even tells fake-Ryan about Sara. His voice chokes up when he talks about how difficult it is to kill real-Ryan, even though it is his mission, even when Shane has never failed to complete a mission before. He doesn't tell Ryan  _why_ , because he can't find the words for it. 

Instead, Shane tells fake-Ryan about how heaven and hell are apparently after him now, and how he has a hundred questions but no answers. He tells fake-Ryan that his life is a clusterfuck, and how he wishes it isn't. 

Fake-Ryan listens with rapt attention, drink forgotten. 

“There’s one thing that Sara’s right about,” Shane says, his heart heavy. “I don’t think I’m capable of loving. Whatever I’m doing right now, whatever the hell this is…I have no clue why I’m doing it. What would I know about love? What would I know what’s best for Ryan?”

Ryan smiles softly. “Shane. Do you truly believe, deep inside your heart, that she’s right about that?”

“I think she must be.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Ryan declares. “I think you do these things for Ryan because you do care. And, if it’s worth anything…” Ryan uses a hand to cradle Shane’s face gently in his palm, “I do think you’re capable of loving.”

“Me? I’m nothing but a killer, some half-assed angel just doing what heaven asks him to do.”

“Be that as it may,” Ryan says softly, “there are things you care about. The fact you’re rebelling is proof of that.”

Shane ducks his head, whether in shame or in embarrassment, he does not know. “Yeah, maybe.”

“There’ll be a way out of this. I’m sure of it.”

"Even if heaven and hell are after me?" 

"Even if heaven and hell are after  _us_ ," Ryan amends. "Do you think Ryan will leave you to walk this rickety road alone?" 

"He won't, and that's the frustrating thing." 

"Then maybe you should let m --- him." 

"He's going to get himself killed." 

The soft expression on Ryan's face is gone, replaced with some of the familiar anger Shane witnessed tonight. "Oh, and you think it's _okay_ to get yourself killed?" 

Shane smiles. He can't help it. “Even if you’re a figment of my imagination, you still act and sound remarkably like the real Ryan Bergara. You’re even protecting me from the awful stuff while I sleep. How heroic." 

Ryan looks away, gesturing at the four-poster bed. “Ugh, whatever. Speaking of sleep…”

“Are you suggesting that I go to  _sleep_ when I’m already asleep? That’s some next level Inception stuff right there, Ryan.”

“I mean, do you want to go back to your Dream Room?” Ryan suggests, raising an eyebrow.

The thought of returning to the darkness makes Shane shiver. “No.”

“Then stay in mine. At least for tonight.”

“Will you…” Shane pauses, wondering if he should voice this, but then decides that there’s no harm since this is all in his head after all, “stay with me while I sleep?”

He feels like an insecure child, but Ryan’s face lights up at the request. “Of course.”

The bed is comfortable, reminding Shane of one of the luxury hotels he’s once had the privilege of staying at. Ryan is crawling into the space next to him, manoeuvring Shane so that Shane’s head is tucked into the crook of his neck. It’s so warm and cozy that Shane is already beginning to feel drowsy, sinking into the heavenly sensation of fresh sheets and fluffy blankets.

“Hey, Shane?”

“Mm?”

There is steely determination in Ryan's voice. “Heaven and hell can unite together, but I’ll never let them take you away from me.” 

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Shane murmurs.

Ryan hums thoughtfully. “I guess it can be both our vows. In sickness and in health, all that jazz.”

Shane doesn’t reply. He’s already fast asleep.

This time, there are no more dreams.

 

***

 

Shane wakes up feeling incredibly well-rested, the taste of whiskey still lingering in his mouth. There's a thin sheen of sweat coating his body thanks to an emitting warmth from his side, and Shane has the vague sense of realisation that he isn’t in the same position as when he had slept. Turns out he's correct. There's an arm thrown around his shoulders, and Shane’s nose is pressed against warm, tan, and equally-sweaty skin.

Ryan Bergara is asleep, his chin resting lightly on Shane’s head.

And Shane freezes, because there’s --- there’s absolutely no way. That’s the same position Ryan and Shane fell asleep in when they were in fake-Ryan’s Dream Room. In  _reality_ , the both of them had stumbled into this worn-out, faded motel after driving for a few more hours, and Shane had promptly collapsed into the bed without so much of a ‘goodnight’ to Ryan the night before. He doesn’t recall Ryan sleeping on the same bed as him (and true enough, there’s a second double bed just next to them, so why is Ryan in  _Shane’s_  bed?), and just what on earth is going on?

Then Ryan shifts, pressing himself even closer to Shane.

Shane thinks he’s about to die. Forget the demons, forget the angels --- Shane’s cause of death will be from Sleeping Too Closely to Ryan Bergara, Cutest Person To Ever Exist.

“Stop thinking,” Ryan grumbles, his voice scratchy with sleep.

Shane comes dangerously close to squeaking. “What?”

“I can feel your mind running in circles. Just shhhhh for a few more minutes…” Ryan is out again like a light, and Shane continues to scream internally at his predicament.

He slowly disentangles himself from Ryan’s arms, watching with yearning and regret as Ryan makes more adorable snuffling noises. By the time Shane brushes his teeth and has a shower, Ryan is up, dark hair sticking up comically and a bleary expression on his face. 

“Hey, Ryan…”

Ryan grunts to indicate that he’s listening.

“Are you…a wizard? Or some kind of witch?”

Ryan stares at Shane for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. “Really, Shane? Are we doing Harry Potter references now?”

“I had to ask,” Shane says, feeling his face go hot.

The laughter continues until Shane throws a pillow at Ryan. Ryan holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry. No, I’m not a wizard or a witch. I’m as normal as can be, thank you very much. Any other questions?”

“Was last night real?” Shane blurts out. He keeps this question vague, scanning Ryan’s face for any hint of recognition.

But Ryan’s expression is carefully blank. “Last night? What do you mean?”

“Do you remember anything about the Dream Room?” 

Ryan cocks his head. “Dream Room? What’s that?”

A mixture of disappointment and relief washes through Shane. “Nevermind. Forget I asked.”

Ryan looks confused but nods, dropping the topic. “Okay. I’m just going to have a shower. Wanna get some breakfast at the café down the road after that?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

The café down the road is small but quaint, serving delicious pastries and special doughnuts at an amazingly affordable price. Shane wolfs down three doughnuts and inhales coffee after coffee as Ryan pulls out Google Maps, scanning the highways and towns around them.

“I think we may have our next Unsolved location,” Ryan says, showing Shane his phone. “This is the Clarendon Farmhouse. It belonged to the Clarendons in the 1900s, but no one’s lived in it for years. Former owners of the Farmhouse reported experiencing negative emotions such as violence, anger, and haunting sadness. They also hear footsteps and disembodied voices.”

“Right. The usual kind of stuff.”

“Sure, but there’s more. Apparently the Farmhouse is rumoured to be..." Ryan pauses for dramatic effect, "...a portal.”

This piques Shane’s interest. “A portal? Like, a portal to hell?”

“Yup,” Ryan replies, popping the P. “But it says here on this website that the Farmhouse is also a gateway to all kinds of astral planes, including heaven itself.”

“To heaven?”

“Yeah. Do you know anything about that?” Ryan asks, dark eyes fixed on Shane.

Shane knows that portals leading to heaven are often illegal, existing as creations of fallen angels. He points this out to Ryan, getting a satisfied nod in response.

“Portals to heaven are often illegal. Got it.”

“And portals to hell aren’t?” Shane asks, curious. 

“Probably not. I mean, demons seem to frequent earth more often than angels do. It’s not really a big deal if new portals pop up here and there, right?”

Shane surveys the low-quality .jpg photo of the Clarendon Farmhouse on Ryan’s phone. It doesn’t stand out, just looks like a regular farmhouse that hasn’t been lived in for a long time. While Shane would normally be jumping for joy at the idea of exploring such a thrilling place, the fact that they’re on the run from  _both_ angels and demons makes him wonder if this is really a good idea.

Instead, he smirks up at Ryan. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d voluntarily want to explore a demonic location. What happened to the fear I saw when we were on Goatman’s Bridge and in the Sallie House?”

“Ugh, never bring them up again,” Ryan groans. “I just thought this would be a cool location, okay? Distract us from the fact that we’re on the run, et cetera, et cetera. Besides, who knows when’s the next time we’ll be able to find another good location to film if we’re moving around all the time? We still have content to produce, you know.”

Shane considers this. They’re armed, and Ryan is right --- they've got more episodes of Unsolved to make. Worst case scenario, they get into a scuffle with some low-levelled demons. It’s not a big deal. They already killed one last night, after all. So, even if it's against all common sense, he agrees. 

The Clarendon Farmhouse is only a few hours’ drive away. It’s three in the afternoon by the time they get there, and the heat is so sweltering that Shane begins to sweat as soon as he exits the car. Ryan is already checking on the camera equipment and lugging their sleeping bags out of the boot. They trudge through the dirt path, boots scuffling against soil and gravel.

Flies and mosquitoes stick on Shane's skin, and he swats at them. Apparently being an angel doesn't make you immune to insects. 

“I mean, the house looks old, but I don’t think anything’s rotten,” Ryan observes. Shane hates to admit this, but Ryan's right --- the Farmhouse does look like it needs a good coat of paint, but everything else --- including its wooden pillars --- seem to be in fairly sturdy condition. So far Shane doesn’t sense anything supernatural, and there’s no sign of the rumoured portal at all. Some of the tension drains out of him. Maybe the night will pass by without a hitch, and they'll get some good content for a new episode without any near-death experiences. 

The door creaks when Ryan pushes it, and then Shane coughs as a cloud of dust invades his lungs. Ryan also wrinkles his nose, proceeding to open the windows so that they have some fresh air.

“So Shane and I are here in the Clarendon Farmhouse,” Ryan says, panning the camera up so that he's recording his own face while Shane hovers, sloth-like, in the background. “No ghouls so far, just lots of dust bunnies. We might go explore the area for a bit before coming back in the evening.”

“Because Ryan knows that ghouls only come out in the evening, right when the sun sets,” Shane injects sarcastically from behind. "Who knew that a haunting could only happen in the dark?" 

"There's actually some proof for that, you know. Three a.m. and the witching hour, remember?" 

"Ohhh, the witching hour. Right. Because that's a real thing." 

"It is! Don't you know that..." Ryan continues, and they bicker a bit for the camera. 

The Farmhouse is surrounded by empty fields, a tiny creek, and some woods. Nothing devastatingly scary. They spend some time hiking, occasionally making a comment or two for the camera.

“Gonna get Ryan a little wet,” Shane whispers, throwing in a cheeky wink just because he can. Then he dips one free hand into the water, flinging droplets at Ryan. Ryan calmly turns off the camera, placing it on the ground with utmost care. Then he hollers a string of expletives, charging towards Shane like some crazy animal. A waterfight ensues. Both of them get drenched, and no one wins. The sun is baking down on their backs, but Shane is having one of the best times in his life. 

It is a pleasant afternoon, and it goes by too soon. They make their way back to the farmhouse at dusk, sharing some canned meat, bread, and chocolate for dinner. It’s not their usual fare, but Shane doesn’t care --- Ryan is smiling, has been smiling all day. Shane wants to remember this smile for the rest of his long, immortal life. 

“Should we try getting as much raw footage as we can?” Ryan asks, fiddling with the camera. “We can do theories and the Farmhouse’s history when we get back to the office.”

Shane shrugs. "Sure, sounds good.”

They make their way to the back of the house. “I think there’s a basement…right here.” And there’s a little trapdoor, coated with cobwebs and rusty metal. The trapdoor groans and creaks in protest when Ryan lifts it, and then Shane is staggering backwards with a hiss.

There’s mixed magic leaking out of the basement, demonic and angelic alike. It's suffocating, enveloping, and squeezing on Shane like a clenched fist. So the rumours are true, Shane thinks. Demons and angels have been using this place as some kind of transit hub. There must be an advanced enchantment on that trapdoor, seeing as Shane didn't sense the portal when he first entered the Farmhouse. 

Which means that there are  _powerful_ angels and demons frequenting this place. That thought doesn’t make Shane feel any better. 

Ryan’s flashlight reveals an equally rusty ladder leading down. Shane can see down into the basement, along with old wine barrels and large ceramic pots. 

“The Clarendons must have used this basement for storage,” Ryan voices, echoing Shane’s thoughts.

Ryan reaches for the ladder, but Shane stops him. He doesn't like the idea of Ryan venturing into unknown territory, especially when there's weird magic involved. “I’ll go first.” He grabs the ladder and begins to climb, ignoring Ryan's protests. 

The magic is even stronger below. Whatever this portal has carried through is not just powerful, it's also dangerous. Shane has seen his fair share of portals, both legal and illegal, but something like this is a first. 

“Ryan,” Shane warns, “I don’t think you should come down here.”

“Too late.” Ryan has climbed down without Shane noticing (for fuck's sake, Ryan, Shane thinks). “So this is the portal?”

Shane spins back sharply. “Why do you say that?” There are no sigils, no pentagrams, nothing to indicate to a normal human that this is more than an ordinary basement. 

“Whoa, hey. Don’t give me that look. It’s just super creepy, that’s all. And aren’t portals to the underworld always in some terrifying basement? I mean, just look at all of the junk. Definitely gives off big bad portal vibes.”

“I guess so,” Shane says, although he still can’t keep the suspicion out of his voice.

Ryan shines his flashlight around, taking a few moments to inspect the surroundings. A lightbulb moment must come to him, because he laughs nervously and says, “we should do our five minutes of silence down here.”

"Are you sure? Let's make it two." 

"Three. Two minutes of spirit box, one minute of complete silence." 

Shane tries to calm himself. He knows they won't get anything from the spirit box --- this place is devoid of spirits --- but that's not what he's worried about. He envisions the possibility of something walking through the portal, killing Ryan before he has the chance to intervene. 

But then Ryan gives him a pleading look, complete with a pout and puppy eyes. He's probably scared, but Shane also knows how determined Ryan gets when he wants to put on a good show for the fans. 

So Shane reluctantly agrees. “Alright, but I’m coming back down right away if anything feels off."

"You're pretty tense tonight, big guy. But that's okay. I've got just the thing. Let's go back upstairs for one sec." They climb back up, and Ryan is rustling in his backpack for something. “Aha! Here we go.”

It’s a small, unassuming thermos flask. Shane doesn't think he's seen Ryan use it before. Ryan pours a generous amount out of something into the cap, handing it over to Shane with a triumphant grin.

“What’s this?” Shane asks, sniffing at the sweet scent.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “It’s hot chocolate, you dolt. I was saving this for bedtime, but I think you need it more than I do.”

Shane takes a sip. It’s delicious _and_ he's a sucker for hot chocolate, so he takes another sip. Then he inhales the whole thing, because the Farmhouse is truly beginning to make his arms and legs tingle from the cold. 

“Oh man, that really hit the spot.”

“Yeah. It’d do you some good.” Ryan is looking away, something he often does when he lies or feels guilty about something.

Shane is about to question this, but his vision suddenly blurs. The cap slides out of his hands, rolling across the floor. He blinks once, twice. Tries to get his limbs back in working order. And fails.

“Ryan,” he slurs, the realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks, “what the fuck did you put in the hot chocolate?”

Ryan moves Shane so that he's lying on the floor in a more comfortable position, and that --- that _motherfucker_ \--- Ryan’s even dragging the sleeping bag over Shane so that it’d function as a makeshift blanket. Like he actually cares for Shane’s wellbeing, even after lying to him. Shane cannot believe that this is happening. It's so fucking unfair. 

Ryan’s eyes are wet. “I’m sorry, Shane. I’m so, so sorry. There’s something I need to take care of. I hope you understand. Maybe I’ll come back. Or maybe…maybe I won’t. But when this is all over, you won’t have to suffer anymore.”

“Don’t…you…dare,” Shane pants out, summoning whatever vestiges of power he has left to stop Ryan from…

God, the portal.

Ryan wants to  _open the damn portal_. Ryan brought them all the way to the Clarendon House because he wanted to open the damn portal. 

Then Ryan’s hand closes on his wrist, and Shane feels his surge of power drain away. The shock of it leaves Shane reeling, stinging even worse than Ryan's betrayal. No being or thing --- alive or dead --- has been able to do that before. Ryan literally absorbed some of Shane’s power with one touch, like some kind of vampiric force of nature that fed on energy.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.

“Shane, please.” Ryan is crying now, his hands shaking. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I promise I’ll make things better. You've been trying so hard and I can't explain everything to you right now, but I promise that I'll solve this. For you. For us."

You don't get to decide this for me, Shane wants to scream, you don't get to fucking decide things like this! 

Ryan's next words are so familiar that Shane almost throws up. "In sickness and in health, remember? I said this before, and I'll say this again: heaven and hell can unite together, but I’ll never let them take you away from me.”

Against his will, Shane's eyes slip shut, but not before he hears Ryan say:

"And maybe, the real Ryan Bergara desperately wants you too." 

 

***

 

When Shane wakes up, Ryan is already gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this escalated quickly


	3. Chapter 3

Shane cannot fucking believe that this is happening.

He sits up so quickly that he hears his joints pop, shoves away the crinkly sleeping bag wrapped around his torso. His limbs prickle with remaining numbness, but at least they’re working again.

There’s sunlight streaming through the Farmhouse’s cracked windows, illuminating dust motes floating in the air. According to Shane’s watch, it’s seven thirty in the morning.

Last night’s food supplies and camera gear are still strewn on the ground. Ryan’s half-full thermos flask sits innocently in front of Shane, its empty cap still ringed with faint traces of chocolate. Shane kicks it.

The basement looks the same as when they stumbled upon it last night --- nothing moved, nothing touched. The only thing that feels different is the residual energy attaching to his surroundings. It’s stronger, fresher.

Ryan’s energy.

He tries to taste it, if only to figure out what is going on. This energy isn’t angelic, that’s for sure. But it’s also far too convoluted to be purely demonic. Shane thinks he must be still in shock, because there’s no way he’s that shitty when it comes to identifying the precise nature of magic.

He just knows that it’s Ryan’s energy, plain and simple. It belongs to Ryan because it _feels_ like Ryan --- bold, reckless, and tasting like a mixture of lightning and flames.

But without figuring out what exactly Ryan is, Shane can’t make an educated guess as to where Ryan has headed off to. And if he doesn’t know where Ryan has headed off to, well.

“For fuck’s sake,” Shane mutters, scrubbing his face tiredly with a hand.

For the first time in many days, he’s at a complete loss. There’s no plan, no bright and shiny Shane Madej idea to fall back on. What do you do when the love of your life turns out to be less human than you thought and ends up (metaphorically) stabbing you in the back in some kind of weird attempt to save your life? If Shane’s life ends up as a book, he hopes that the dialogue’s more tolerable than Twilight. 

Point is, he has no idea what to do.

So Shane goes and gets himself breakfast.

It’s a very mechanical affair. Shane packs up their gear (including Ryan’s things --- while Ryan may have disappeared into some supernatural realm, Shane doesn’t want the police on his tail), drives for a few hours with All Star by Smash Mouth playing loudly on repeat, and arrives at the next town. He’s filling the gas tank (and this is Ryan’s car, god, what’s he going to do with it?) when his stomach grumbles, demanding sustenance. There’s a dingy-looking diner down the road that looks more like a shack than anything else, but Shane makes a desperate beeline for it.

Shovelling bacon into his mouth shouldn’t feel this therapeutic, but it does. The repetitive motion of stabbing a fork into food like a lunatic while sipping at scalding black coffee calms him. Angel or not, Shane enjoys a damn good breakfast. Food helps him think.

With that in mind, Shane takes out his notebook and begins to write.

  * Ryan = not human. Species = unknown. Anyway, _[underlined]_ NOT HUMAN.
  * weird signs shown by Ryan before this = not afraid of murder, not surprised by the supernatural, can kill a demon with accuracy, mind magic did not work on him etc. Thought he was 50% psychopath, but turns out he’s just _[underlined]_ NOT HUMAN.
  * (probably also a psychopath. nothing would surprise me at this point)
  * _HE DRUGGED ME!!!_
  * drugged me with something that stopped me from functioning and kept me asleep for hours. Magic potion suspected.
  * opened highly suspicious portal = for what reason?
  * said he had to take care of something. What is it?
  * portal goes to heaven / hell = which one is Ryan at?
  * brought me to Clarendon Farmhouse, where he knew there was a portal. How long has Ryan been planning this?
  * WAS POWERFUL ENOUGH TO OPEN A PORTAL. What a nightmare
  * WAS POWERFUL ENOUGH TO absorb my energy. fucking hope wikipedia has the answers to this because i certainly don’t. never seen this power before. 1000/10 freaked out
  * says he’s going to save me? from what?
  * dream room was real??



At this, Shane pauses to cross the question out.

  * ~~dream room was real??~~ Ryan can sense my dream room (don’t know how he found out or sensed it, break me out of mine, and take me to his own dream room)
  * which means Ryan knows my mission, my identity, even knows about Sara (god why did i tell him about Sara). does this affect his motivations? or did he already have plans before shit went down?



He flips to the next page and writes:

  * WHAT TO DO NEXT



The page remains frustratingly blank. Shane drains his coffee and gets another one, but the answers don’t come.

 

***

 

There are three main problems that remain.

Firstly, Shane is (technically) still on the run from heaven AND hell. Secondly, Ryan’s disappearance from the human world is problematic. Ryan’s face is already plastered on at least seven different kinds of social media channels --- his abrupt disappearance would result in questions, and most likely a criminal investigation. Shane does not need that in his life now, thank you very much.

Thirdly, he lacks information. A lot of it. It would be easier, Shane supposes, if there’s someone out there who he can reach out for help. But Shane has worked alone as an angsty contract-killer angel for so long that he doesn’t have many connections, much less any trustworthy ones.

It is exactly one week after Ryan’s disappearance that the third problem resolves by itself. Shane is walking along a grimy alleyway when a medium-sized building manifests with a loud _pop_ right in front of him. Shane startles and almost slips on one of the algae-covered tiles, but only because he is deep in thought.

The building looks like an old 1800s antique store from the outside, but there’s an intricately-carved wooden sign with the words “Lim’s All-Purpose Magic Shop” hanging above the doorway.

Shane doesn’t think twice. He twists the doorknob, steps over the threshold, and is greeted with the sound of jingling bells. He smells bitter herbs, hears gurgling pipes, and sees a dreamcatcher the size of his arm swaying out of the corner of his eye. Whatever Shane’s walked into, he knows it’s not some kind of token gift shop.

“Hello.” The voice is polite, soft, but also cautious. Shane looks up to see the resident shopkeeper lounging by the counter, takes note of the striking silver hair and dark eyes. “You’re Shane Madej.”

Shane is already moving, sliding into a defensive crouch. He doesn’t sense any animosity from this shopkeeper, but Heaven has always frowned on mortals who practiced magic --- and a teleporting magic shop like this practically reeks of _illegality_. So he says, “it’s bad customer service to be asking patrons for their name before giving your own.”

“I’m Steven Lim. I own this shop.”

Shane nods at a shelf where books on demonology are stacked. “Cool merch.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Now, Steven, correct me if I’m wrong: but I’m going to say that I’m here for a reason, judging by the fact that you know my name and had your shop manifest in front of me.” Shane smiles, but there’s too many teeth in it to be truly friendly. “An illegal magic shop, no less.”

Steven rolls his eyes, his polite demeanour rapidly disappearing. “So cautious. So arrogant. You angels, geez.”

“I see my reputation precedes me.”

“You’re kidding, right? There’s no angel, demon, or anyone in the magic community who doesn’t know your name after all the recent drama,” Steven huffs. “Look, let me get straight to the point. I’m a friend of Ryan’s.”

Shane’s head jerks up. “Are you.” He knows better than to trust strangers, if anyone at all.

“I swear. Wait, has Ryan never brought me up in your conversations? Ever?”

“No.” And now Shane’s beginning to feel like a jerk, because if Steven’s truly a friend, then Shane should have known ages ago.

Steven must see the way Shane’s face crumples, because he says, “it’s not your fault for not knowing. Ryan doesn’t talk about me much. I mean, what I’m doing is _illegal_. As you did kindly point out.”

“Well, is there anything that can prove you’re really Ryan’s friend?” Shane asks, folding his arms. “Because…no offence, after Ryan walked out on me last week, I have very few fucks left to give when it comes to meeting new people.”

 “There is.” Steven’s eyes dart away, before landing squarely on Shane’s once more. “Ryan gave you something to drink before he took off, didn’t he?”

Oh.

Ohhhh.

The pieces click. Shane’s fists clench. He takes one step to Steven, then another. “That was you? You were the one who gave Ryan that despicable potion?”

“Sleeping potion of the highest strength,” Steven confirms, “enough to take down supernatural beings, even angels.”

Fury flares in Shane like a hot furnace. “Do you --- I seriously don’t even know where to begin. Do you have any idea what you did? If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be wandering the streets like some pathetic stray trying to figure out where Ryan has disappeared to --- Ryan wouldn’t have been able to open the portal --- Ryan would be standing here, right in front of us. You’re a menace, you and your cursed items --- you ruined everything!”

“I _didn’t_ know what Ryan was going to use the potion for. You can’t blame me for something I know nothing about, Madej.” Steven is standing his ground despite being confronted by a pissed off angel, something which Shane grudgingly respects him for.

“But a sleeping potion like this? Why didn’t you at least think of questioning it?”

“And just how much do you know about Ryan?” Steven asks, and even if his tone isn’t accusing, Shane still grimaces. “I bet it was only when he gave you the sleeping potion that you found out Ryan wasn’t human. You don’t know what he’s been doing all this while before you met him. He has secrets, just like everyone else does. Ryan and I have been friends for a long time, Madej. And for good reason. I’ve supplied him with all kinds of potions, charms, and amulets. Anything he needs, I give it to him.”

Shane sinks back into one of the shop’s fluffy armchairs, deflating. His chest aches, the anger fading away into embarrassment.

“I realised what Ryan was up to when he failed to contact me this week as promised. Something changed his plans, though I’m not sure what,” Steven says, raising a questioning eyebrow. “I have a feeling it has something to do with you.”

“It does,” Shane says. His voice is rough, like he’s about to cry.

Steven’s next words are unexpectedly gentle. “Look, I’m sorry. I sought you out because I knew something was wrong. I promise that I want to help in whatever way I can.”

“That’s great, but you don’t gain anything from helping me.”

“Maybe not. But Ryan’s my friend, remember? I can’t bring him home, but you can.” Steven abruptly turns, making his way to the shop’s makeshift kitchen. “Now, I hope you like tea, because there’s going to be a lot of it while we run each other up to speed and hatch out something that remotely resembles a plan.”

 

***

 

Five minutes later, Steven has flipped the sign hanging outside the shop so that it reads as ‘CLOSED’, and he’s bringing out a large tea set with biscuits. He pours Shane a cup, being the good shopkeeper-slash-host he is. Shane makes himself comfortable by the warmth of the fireplace, stuffing two biscuits into his mouth. They taste good.

Steven sits down. “Okay, what do we have?”

“I made some notes. Thought it’d be a good place to start.” Shane thrusts his crudely-written notes to Steven, groaning when Steven begins to laugh. “Oh, c’mon.”

Steven ignores Shane and continues to read, tutting when he finally reaches the last page. The _WHAT TO DO NEXT_ is highlighted and circled in red, stained by multiple ink blots every time Shane’s pen lingers when he thinks for a second too long.

“Well,” Steven says, handing Shane’s notes back, “I can answer some of your questions. Not all of them, but some.”

“That’s good enough.” It’s _more_ than enough, considering how Shane has been wandering blindly for an entire week.

“I’ll start with what I don’t know.” Steven leans forward, lacing his fingers together. “I don’t know why Ryan opened the portal. I don’t know what his goals are. I don’t know how all of this relates to you. In fact, I didn’t even know that portal existed. And honestly? That’s weirding me out. After all, this here,” Steven pauses, grabbing his laptop and pulling up a map with various markers on it, “tells me where all the portals are at. All the legal ones, at least, and as many of the illegal ones that I learn about. This one at the Clarendon Farmhouse? Not a trace of it on my database.”

“Is your database reliable?”

Steven shrugs. “It’s not perfect, but it’s one of the best in the country. My clients need information too, you know.”

Ignoring the disconcerting thought that there was a shady, black-market magic dealer sitting right next to him, Shane nods. “Okay, so we have no information on that portal. Got it. What else?”

“I know some things about Ryan,” Steven says, eyebrows wiggling. Shane tries his best not to look too interested. He probably resembles a six-year-old waiting for ice cream, considering how Steven’s beginning to smirk. “Oh, wow. You really want to hear this, don’t you? You know, he wouldn’t shut up about you when you first joined Buzzfeed.”

“Wait, what?”

Steven sighs in the way a best friend usually does when they’ve seen and heard enough weird things to be traumatised for a lifetime. “Yep. It was always ‘Shane did this’, ‘Shane did that’, ‘Shane and I went to Chipotle today’, ‘Shane and I rescued some kittens’, ‘some weird asshole insulted Shane while we were having lunch’, ‘I helped Shane kill a spider today’ -- "

Shane doesn’t know whether to be delighted or mortified. He settles on a mixture of both. “Please stop.”

“He never said anything about you being an angel,” Steven continues, “but I think he suspected that you weren’t human. I mean, you literally showed up at Buzzfeed out of nowhere and wormed your way up the ranks to be his co-host. All in one. Single. Day.”

“Hey, I thought Ryan was human,” Shane insists. “It’s not like heaven told me a lot about him when they asked me to _kill_ him.”

Steven stills, and Shane abruptly realises that Steven doesn’t know about this part of the story yet. While the fire continues crackling in the background, Steven’s shop suddenly feels less inviting. A threatening gust of cold air sweeps over his skin, and Shane shivers.

Then Steven relaxes, although his gaze is so judgmental that Shane wants to descend into the deep bowels of a cave and never emerge again. “So why didn’t you? Kill him, I mean.”

“You know what, I asked myself the same question for months and still don’t have an answer.”

“Madej.” Steven sounds exasperated.  

“If I really wanted to kill him, he’d be dead ages ago,” Shane snaps. “Just drop it, okay?”

Unexpectedly, Steven throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, that’s priceless. Haven’t heard a joke as good as that in a long time. Shift your perspectives, man. Now that you know Ryan isn’t fully human, it’s also time to come to terms that Ryan isn’t as weak or breakable in the way you thought he might be. It’s quite the opposite, I believe. Even you’d have a hard time facing up against him.”

“Steven...” Shane hesitates, because this still sounds crazy in his head, “what _exactly_ is Ryan? His magic --- I’ve never seen anything like it before. He held my wrist and absorbed my angelic power, so he can’t be a demon. But some of that lingering energy at the portal was --- without a doubt ---demonic. I don’t understand.”

Steven smiles. “Well, why can’t he have both?”

Both? But that meant ---

Shane blinks. Steven is gesturing at Shane to speak, his expression encouraging.

Is this what scientists feel when they stumble on a new discovery? The sense of exhilaration that comes along with frustration, dread, and the desire to peel the layers back even further to see if they could discover more? Or is this the feeling humans got when they first discovered that alchemy, magic and witchcraft were real? How do you carry on living your life after stumbling upon a truth so, so wondrous? 

“Ryan’s…both,” Shane breathes, the idea dazzling and frightening him at the same time. “He’s angel _and_ demon. He can use a portal that goes to heaven and hell, can use both angelic and demonic magic…because he’s both. This is…holy shit, this is huge. Is that…how is that even possible?”

“It’s possible in the only way you know how.” Steven’s voice is soft, almost pitying. “When an angel and a demon have a child together.”

Shane freezes, his mind automatically rejecting this as a possibility even when it’s the only logical conclusion one can come to. No way. This is unheard of, just because of how taboo it is. In fact, taboo isn’t even the best way to describe it --- this is an offence of a magnitude so great that it would shake the foundations of knowledge and ethics, make every supernatural being question everything they thought they ever knew.

Heaven could never allow this to happen. Heaven would want all evidence of this unholy union erased. This child, tainted with demon blood, would not have served Heaven’s purpose at all.

Heaven would want this child gone.

Shane feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He understands everything at once, yet feels like he understands nothing at all.

“Are you,” Shane chokes out, “half angel and half demon too? Is that why you and Ryan need each other?”

“God, no. I’m human, thank you very much. The only thing that makes me stand out is the fact that I practice magic. Not quite Harry Potter, but getting there.” Steven rubs at his neck, looking away. “As for why Ryan and I need each other, it’s like what I said. Ryan often needs different kinds of charms and amulets to suppress his --- well, unique blend of power and appearance. The ones I make for him wear out, so he gets them replaced often. In return, he helps me with pretty much anything. Whether it’s a helping hand for some new kind of spell or baking me a batch of cookies because I’m craving them, Ryan does it.”

“Do you know who…” Shane begins weakly.

“Who Ryan’s parents are? No, I don’t. I never asked, and he never brought it up.” And for once, Steven sounds uncertain. “They may be alive, they may be in hiding…or maybe they’re dead. I do know that Ryan wasn’t in contact with them by the time we became friends, though.”

Shane nods, filing that information away for future consideration. “So nothing happened all these years, not until Heaven sent me to kill him. Why now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Which means Steven doesn’t know either. Shane sighs, a weary gesture he’s been doing too much in the past week. “I need to find Ryan. I just don’t know how.”

“You’ve actually figured it out already,” Steven says, gesturing at Shane’s notes.

Shane unfolds his notes, grimacing at how wrinkled the paper scraps are. “I have?” The last he checked, he hasn’t made any new leads.  

With the patience of a saint, Steven points to a specific line. “There.”

The words _Ryan can sense my dream room_ stare back at him. Shane reads them once, twice, and then one more time for good measure. He adds one piece of information to another, and…oh. He looks up, staring at Steven in awe.

“Do you understand now?” Steven prompts.

Shane stands up so quickly that he almost knocks the tea set over. “I have to go.” He’s already vaulting over the shop’s merchandise, pulling on his jacket and gloves like a maniac. It is only before he bolts out of the door that Shane remembers his manners, so he turns around to give Steven a sheepish grin. “Hey, thanks for everything. I really needed that. Ryan and I will come visit once this blows over, promise. And, uh. Sorry for being a dick?”

Steven’s answering laugh tells Shane that he’s forgiven.

 

***

 

It takes Shane far too long to fall asleep in the musty motel this time. There’s adrenaline coursing through his system, fuelled by the constant need for bathroom breaks thanks to all the tea he had at Steven’s. He finally manages to slip into unconsciousness after pacing the room for the fourth time, just when he’s about to throw his hands up and call it quits.

Shane’s Dream Room is in one piece this time, back to how it usually looks when there are no terrifying thoughts and nightmares taunting him. There’s the strong urge to settle into one of the Room’s fluffy bean bags and pig out on the PlayStation, but Shane knows he’s here for a reason.

He needs to get to Ryan’s Dream Room.

It’s a gamble. He doesn’t know if Ryan’s even asleep. But it’s the only way he can find Ryan, and if he doesn’t succeed now he’ll just try again and again until he does. Shane calms the buzzing in his mind and focuses on thinking about Ryan, allows his mind to remember the exact sensation he felt when he encountered Ryan in his dream. There’s a lot of guesswork when it comes to accessing someone’s Dream Room, more of an art than a science.

There’s the slightest brush against his mind, and it feels familiar. Then it’s gone, retreating so quickly into the abyss that Shane doesn’t catch it.

_Ryan._

Shane flings the door of his Dream Room open, hating how impenetrable the darkness is. But it’s more disconcerting than scary, especially when he only has one thing in mind.

Just like how Ryan grabbed his hand once and plunged them into the void, Shane does the same thing by allowing himself to fall. He falls freely, weightless, and unchained by gravity. There is no terror, only certainty that he’ll be seeing Ryan soon.

The next thing he knows, Shane’s in Ryan’s Dream Room.

It looks the same, for the most part. None of the interior décor has been swapped out, and the monochromatic colour scheme remains. The fancy couch, the fancy liquor cabinets, the fancy bed with its plush blankets --- all of it is laid out in the same way that Shane remembers. And Ryan is --- Ryan is just standing in the middle of the room in his well-pressed charcoal suit and tie, a flute of champagne in his hand. There’s an unnatural stillness in the way he stands, and even Shane’s sudden appearance doesn’t startle him.

And god, Ryan looks handsome. Shane wants to run forward and embrace him like a lover would do in a horrible chick flick, wants to smoothen away the dark circles under Ryan’s eyes. He wants to press their bodies close together, if only to feel Ryan’s warmth and believe that this is all real.

Ryan is handsome, and Ryan is alive.

“Ryan.” Shane is glad his voice doesn’t crack, as if they didn’t part ways on traitorous terms. “It’s good to see you again.”

There’s almost nothing awkward about it because Ryan looks every part like the perfect host, the kind that makes small talk with his rich and fancy guests on a lovely evening before they sit down in an equally fancy dining room for a meal. But Ryan’s next words are scripted, monotone in a way that Shane can’t help but shiver. “Shane. How are you?”

Now that Shane looks closer, there’s something not right with Ryan’s Dream Room. The ornate clock is ticking, but none of its hands move. They twitch helplessly at every tick, affixed ominously at six o’clock. The glittering chandelier, while beautiful, sways ominously right where Shane stands. Faint rumbling rattles the Room, obvious and unmistakeable despite soft, shock-absorbent carpets

Jesus, Ryan’s Dream Room is like a volcano straining at the edge of an explosive eruption.

In hindsight, Shane thinks he should have said something else. He’s done some dumb things, but this truly takes the cake, because Shane opens his big (but honest) mouth and says, “not great. You did some shitty things --- lied to me, drugged me, told me more lies, opened some dodgy-as-fuck portal, and left. All I have left is an annoying Spotify playlist and the absence of a co-host to eat bagels with. In the grand scheme of things, you have well and truly fucked up.”  

It comes out as a petulant rant, smeared with Shane’s ever-present sarcasm. But Ryan’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t even blink at Shane’s words, each weightier than the last.

Shane balls his fists. “I want some answers, Ryan. And because we’re short on time, I’ll ask the most important question first. _Where. Are. You_ _?_ ”

Ryan tilts his head, a curious gesture. “Was that your most important question?” Shane knows what that implies. _Aren’t you going to ask why I lied to you? Aren’t you going to ask who I really am? Aren’t you going to ask what my motives are?_

“I have _plenty_ of questions,” Shane snarls. “Trust me, you’ll have so much to answer for when I see you again for real. But I’m not here for an emotional reunion --- we don’t have enough time, not when we don’t know how long these Dream Rooms last. So I’ll ask again: where are you? Where did you open the portal to? Was it heaven? Was it hell? And where in particular?” When Ryan doesn’t answer, Shane finally walks up and shakes Ryan’s shoulders. “Tell me!”

“And why should I?” Ryan asks, slapping Shane’s hand away. “You said it yourself. I lied to you. Drugged you. Hurt you. Since I’ve done all of that, I don’t see why I should go the extra mile of telling you where I am. You don’t get a say in my choices, yeah?” His dark eyes find Shane’s, and they’re cold. Distant. “So back off. Go home, Shane.”

The rejection stings like acid. He’s never had a fight with Ryan before, not like this. Shane doesn’t know what else to say. So he blurts, “I met Steven today.”

“Did you?” Ryan’s voice is neutral, but Shane can tell that he’s intrigued. The sizzling tension between them eases into something more bearable, less volatile. “Interesting. Steven doesn’t go out of his way to meet new people if he doesn’t want to.”

“He was looking for me so that I could bring you home. His shop’s cool, I’ll give you that.”

Ryan gives an affirmative hum. Then he’s turning away so that he doesn’t have to meet Shane’s gaze. “Steven should know better than to meddle."

Shane’s frustration spikes once again. How on earth have him and Ryan lost the ability to have a normal, civil conversation? Why does Ryan keep saying such stupid, selfish things?

“Steven cares about you,” Shane says, his voice tight, “and so do I. I’m going to find you, Ryan, one way or the other. You may think that I’m butting in, but you know what? This became _my_ business the minute you said you were doing this for me.”

“Doing this for you? Don’t flatter yourself, Shane. I have big plans --- plans that I’ve been working on even before we met. They just happen to work in favour of your circumstances, that’s all. Did you think I would put _you_ above everything else?”

A wave of anger washes over him --- it's instinctive, and Shane can't help but feel that way. He's seized with the temptation to punch Ryan in the face, but it dulls into the background as Shane processes the question.

“I…wait a second," Shane says, realisation washing over him, "I’m pretty sure you did."

How could he have thought of Ryan as selfish? Even with the lies, even when Ryan had left Shane all alone --- he had wanted Shane out of harm’s way. Ryan's trying to rile him up, distracting him with hurtful words so that Shane would leave. It’s a smart tactic, and it had almost worked. Ryan knows Shane too well, knows that Shane would never take such barbed comments lying down.

Ryan is laughing, but Shane sees through it, understands now that it is more a hysterical plea than a ploy to be cruel. “You really believed that? God, that’s gullible. You don’t matter to me as much as you think, Shane.”

Shane takes a deep breath before speaking, feeling calmer than before. “Sure, sure, yeah. The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t matter. Big ol’ scheming Ryan Bergara and all, it’d be strange for you to pull off this shitshow without having some other kind of motive.”

Ryan freezes, the sudden change in Shane’s attitude throwing him off.

 “I’m going to find you,” Shane vows, “and we’ll solve this together.”

“Didn’t --- didn’t you hear me?” For the first time in tonight, Ryan sounds anything but monotone. Shane hears the sliver of desperation, buried deep underneath Ryan’s carefully crafted mask. “I lied to you, hurt you, and --- "

“And you’re still trying to push me away so that I’ll leave you alone to bear these burdens, right?”

Raw panic leaks into Ryan’s voice. “No, no, no --- this isn’t how it was supposed to go --- you can’t come after me, Shane, it’s too dangerous --- I told you that I would solve this, I just need time --- "

Uh oh, back up for a second. “Ryan, you have to breathe,” Shane says, because Ryan’s fear is finally beginning to distort the Dream Room.

Just like a storm, there’s a few moments of stretched out silence, and then things begin happening in rapid succession. Shane barely has enough time to shout out a warning before the wine cabinets shatter, spraying the surroundings with a shower of glass.  

There’s the sound of a soft hiss that resembles the opening of floodgates. Then burgundy wine begins to rapidly fill up in the wine glasses, in Ryan’s champagne flute, overflowing and spilling onto the carpeted floors. It stains the furniture, then Shane's new shoes. 

At first the flow is steady, resembling no more than a faucet. Then the flow increases in intensity, spilling and spilling like a waterfall, like a sliced wrist that tries but is unable to stop spurting arterial blood, bearing down on them so quickly that the room begins to flood.

The strong scent of iron fills the room, and Shane thinks: this isn’t wine.

Dream Rooms manifest the sleeper’s terror in different ways. Shane knows this, has witnessed the shadowy tendrils warp his own Dream Room countless times. But whatever’s going on in Ryan’s Dream Room is downright terrifying. There’s blood everywhere --- leaking from the ceiling, running down the walls in scarlet rivulets, spurting from the corners and bursting out of cracks. It drips onto his face, wet and sticky, smearing over his mouth like red lipstick. Ryan is standing there, wide-eyed and frightened, red tracks running down his cheeks. 

 “C’mon, we have to go!” Shane sloshes past the murky red that has reached his chest, hand reaching out for Ryan. “I’ll take you to my Dream Room. You can rest there.”

Ryan comes back to his senses, shaking his head. “No.”

“What do you mean? You --- you know what it’s like to die in your own Dream Room, surely you know how painful it can be!” Shane knows how it’s like to be trapped in the shadows of his Dream Room, has woken up countless of times shaking, gasping for breath, his powers dimmed and useless.

“I know.” Shane can barely see Ryan anymore. “It’s fine.”

“You want to drown in a pool of blood?! Oh my god, that’s fucked up! We are _so_ talking about this the next time I see you!”

Ryan’s fingers peek out from the pool of blood, pointing to the doorway that Shane appeared at. “If you take the exit, you should be able to wake up just fine. And no, we will NOT talk about this. Ever.”

“Nonononono, I’m not leaving without you. Absolutely not.” And because this is still Ryan’s Dream Room, the door leading to the exit chooses at this very convenient moment to swing open. Shane feels the current push against him, shoving hard enough that he stumbles and gets washed away. He flails, trying to swim in the opposite direction. “No no damn it Ryan stop getting it to do that --- "

The last thing Shane sees is Ryan’s mournful smile before he gets thrown out of Ryan’s Dream Room.

 

***

 

Shane wakes up, tastes copper on his tongue, and still has no idea where Ryan is.

He shoves his face into a pillow so that it muffles his frustrated screams.

 

***

 

He tries again, again, and again. Ryan’s Dream Room is nowhere to be found.

Shane attempts to sleep at different times in the day, in the hopes that he’ll be asleep at the same time Ryan is. But no matter how many times he tries, there isn’t a single glimpse of Ryan’s presence.

The sinking feeling in him grows stronger. There’s only one explanation for this.

How long has it been since Ryan last slept?

 

***

 

_Steven_ (10:36): how are things? found Ryan yet?

_Steven_ (10:38): let me know if you need more help. i’ll do my best.

_Steven_ (14:46): madej?

_Shane_ (20:23): not yet. but it’s only a matter of time. thanks for your help the other day.

_Steven_ (20:25): okay. take care of yourself.

 

***

 

The Buzzfeed bosses continue to email and call Shane, asking him how producing content from the show is going. Shane forces himself to laugh and joke around, telling them made-up stories of how Ryan and him are on the road trip of a lifetime.

Shane actually forces himself to do some actual work. He types up the notes he and Ryan gathered while they were at the Clarendon Farmhouse, even if he wants nothing more but to burn the whole place down.

 

***

 

Shane has an idea.

It’s not a good idea. If anything, it’s one of Shane’s least favourite ideas ever. He’d like to think that he’s more tasteful than this, that there are lines which he would never cross. But now he’s stepping over that line with little subtlety, allowing himself the sick pleasure of using others for his benefit.

He starts with an angel.

The angel Shane sees in the deserted parking lot is an impressionable young man with dark, slicked back hair and a kind smile. He looks a little like Ryan, thanks to these shared features. He also looks young. Inexperienced.

It’s perfect.

While Shane has never been a fan of hurting himself, he slices a large gash in his arm and sprints towards the angel with a pained cry for help. The angel frowns when he sees that it’s Shane --- surely an entire legion in Heaven must be looking for him --- but the frown promptly disappears as soon as he sees the blood. Most angels are kind and loving to a fault. While they don’t question the orders of their superiors (a.k.a. capture Shane Madej, bring him back alive), the kind of love that comes between all angels comes first, a surging instinct pure as it is disgusting.

With the angel’s guard down, Shane leaps and clubs him in the back of the head. The angel crumples, going down like a sack of potatoes.

Poor guy, Shane thinks. Never stood a chance.

Then Shane proceeds to prepare everything. He prepares grimly, methodically, in the very same way he first brainstormed for clues and ideas when Ryan first disappeared. His self-inflicted gash stings, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he takes care to ensure that the warehouse is empty and sound-proof, and that he has everything he needs: ropes, magic sigils, and objects sharpened and primed for one purpose. He prepares everything by himself without talking to Steven, because he knows that Steven --- kind as he is --- would object to such methods, even if it was for Ryan’s sake.

The angel --- Shane doesn’t even think of asking for his name --- has a scream that ricochets throughout the warehouse. He’s crying, tears and snot all over his handsome face, blood on his lips from biting so hard.

“Why?” the angel sobs. “Why are you doing this?”

Shane waves a photo of Ryan in front of his face. “This is Ryan Bergara. Have you seen him in Heaven?”

“I haven’t seen him, I swear, oh God, I swear I’m telling the truth! I have no idea who this person is.”

“ _Liar_ ,” Shane hisses, “you must have at least heard of him.”

The angel pauses for a fraction too long. Shane moves, snapping the angel’s wrist in one smooth movement. The resounding crack is harsh. Screams fill the air again.

With the grace of a nonchalant weatherman, Shane says, “I’m sorry I had to do that --- just had to make sure you talked, you know?”

The blubbering continues for a minute or two. Shane decides to be patient before he starts breaking fingers and toes.

Finally, the angel begins talking. In halting words, he says that Heaven now sees Shane as a threat, especially since word of him and Ryan teaming up for Buzzfeed Unsolved has spread. That’s not a surprise --- Shane has expected that. But then there’s also talk of re-indoctrinating and re-training Shane to be Heaven’s super soldier once more, to salvage whatever is left of him so that he could still be put to good use.

Fat chance, Shane thinks.

“There are other rumours,” the angel chokes out, “rumours that Heaven’s planning to mount an attack on Hell.”

“An attack?” Now this piques Shane’s interest. Heaven and Hell had been cooperating at one stage. What changed that?

“I don’t know anything about it. I…I think it has something to do with Ryan? I really don’t know. Please, please, please --- "

Shane believes him, and takes pity in the sorry state that this innocent angel is in. So he cards his fingers through the angel's bloody hair in a gentle motion and says, “thank you for telling me.”

The relief in the angel’s face is obvious. He thinks Shane’s going to release him. But really, he should know better. Shane would be an idiot to run the risk of discovery by Heaven’s legion.  

So he slits the angel’s throat, and moves on to demons.

Demons are more stubborn and familiar with the concept of torture than angels are. They see Shane and hiss defensively (as all demons usually do), so Shane takes his sweet time breaking them in. They’re built to be sturdy, but always reveal how pitiful and weak they are after Shane is through with them. They beg for release, plead, and even promise to serve Shane as a master.

Shane pours holy water over their wounds in response, and removes their claws with pliers.  

It is when he captures his ninth demon that Shane finally gets a breakthrough. The demon seated in the chair is beautiful --- young, lithe, with a fierce gaze that tells Shane she’s not here to mess around.

When Shane shows her Ryan’s photograph, she nods. “If you’re looking for Ryan, he’s in Hell.”

That response is certainly new. Most demons usually taunt him or threaten to rip his eyeballs out. “And what’s he doing there?”

“I don’t know. No one does. He’s a mystery, but he’s the kind of mystery that even many demons are afraid to try and solve. His power is…” she shudders, trailing off. “It’s unlike anything we’ve seen before. We know he’s an angel-demon hybrid, but there’s just something in the way he commands himself. Ryan’s earned some respect, that’s for sure.”

“What about the higher-ups? Lucifer himself?”

A strange look crosses her face. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Lucifer was found dead just a few days ago.”

Shane swears loudly, almost dropping his knife. “ _Dead_?”

“Dead,” she confirms, shrugging nonchalantly. “Wait, are you freaking out? Yes, you’re freaking out. Why are you freaking out?”

“Because Lucifer is the original Fallen Angel, the original sinner,” Shane says, the lore familiar to him as one of Heaven’s angels. “A legendary demon like that would never succumb to death so easily. Whoever killed him must be extremely powerful.”

“Ah, that’s a common misconception. You’re right in saying that Lucifer is the original Fallen Angel, but that OG Lucifer has been dead for some time. Nowadays, ‘Lucifer’ is the title of He who Rules Hell. No different to what humans call a Prime Minister or a President.” Something on Shane’s face must give his discomfort away, because she grins and says, “what? Hell moves with the times, you know. We can’t have one leader ruling us forever. If there’s a demon better suited to rule Hell, then that demon should be able to take up that role. I think it’s a good system. Isn’t that how it works in Heaven too?”

“I…I don’t think so,” Shane confesses. He has never seen or spoken to God, doesn’t know anyone else’s names apart from his acquaintances and immediate superiors. He doesn’t know if the four Archangels are the original Archangels from the dawn of time, or whether they are titles that get passed around. Come to think about it, Shane knows nothing about Heaven’s hierarchy at all.

"The only thing annoying about this is that everyone tries to fight for the title of Lucifer after Lucifer dies," the angel says, pouting. "Hell gets really chaotic. I don't like it." 

"Right." He’s learning a lot from this demon, so Shane asks, “what’s your name?”

Her responding smile is impish. “I’m Jen.”

“Well, Jen. You’ll be the first to be walking out of this warehouse alive.” He cuts her ropes, watching as she stands and cracks her knuckles.

“I know. It stinks like death in here. Do you ever clean up? Whatever, don’t answer that.” Jen proceeds to saunter out of the warehouse, giving him a good-natured wave. Shane watches her leave, gives her a half-hearted wave in response. “Can’t wait to see what kind of trouble you stir up in Hell, Shane Madej.”

Finally, Shane thinks, _finally._

He collapses to the ground with a shuddering breath, feels the knife clatter out of his hands and skid away. For the first time in forever, Shane allows himself the liberty of stretching his wings, removing his glamour after having them hidden for so long.

Previously snowy white, Shane’s wings are a dark grey, almost black. Shane plucks at a feather, staring but not truly seeing. His magic, while still potent, now flows with a different kind of intent. They are no longer used to serve Heaven and its purposes --- no, no.  Heaven is no longer his master. From now on, Shane uses his magic for his own sake. Or is it for Ryan’s? Shane doesn’t know. It’s getting harder and harder to tell these days.

“I see,” Shane muses, allowing a bitter smile to grace his face, “so this is how Heaven spots a Fallen Angel candidate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you in hell.


End file.
